An Old World Legacy: A Fallout-APH Crossover
by mdc1957
Summary: Over 200 years have passed since the Great War cleansed America and the world in atomic fire. In the Mojave, a girl braces for war alongside New California Republic's finest. While in the East Coast, the Brotherhood of Steel watches over a peculiar relic. Both of which tie to a distant heritage. A crossover between Fallout and Hetalia. Warning for language and death.


**Author's Notes:** Time for something completely different and originally posted on DeviantArt: a Crossover Fic between _Axis Powers Hetalia_ and _Fallout_ , my _other_ favorite series. For those unfamiliar with _Fallout_ it's a post-apocalyptic RPG franchise set in a retro-futuristic world where the Cold War of the 1950s-60s variety never ended, resulting in a nuclear war in its backstory; the most recent ones _3_ and _New Vegas_ take place in the "Capital Wasteland" (Washington D.C.) and the Mojave area surrounding Las Vegas respectively. And after gaining a bit of inspiration from the recent release of the _Fallout 4_ trailer, I couldn't resist.

As a little aside, the _Fallout_ games were also an inspiration for the RDNA-verse timeline/AU.

Still, I make it a point to make the story as approachable as possible even if one isn't a fan for either works. But as a warning, expect an OC, foul language, post-apocalyptic '50s slang, a bit of black comedy and character death. The story itself takes from both _Fallout 3_ and _Fallout New Vegas_. And as a further disclaimer, this is a work of fiction, not an ideological, political or propaganda piece.

Lastly, I neither own _Axis Powers Hetalia_ nor _Fallout_. All rights belong to their respective owners.

That being said, enjoy the wasteland!

* * *

 _ **An Old World Legacy**_

 ** _A Fallout-Hetalia Crossover Tale told from Coast to Coast_**

Hoover Dam, Mojave. 2280.

 _War_ , Anne F. Jones mused in her head as she made her way towards the makeshift stage, the sounds of gunfire still echoing in the far distance. _War never changes. But neither should common sense!_ The blond girl groaned for the nth time, her hands straightening the skirt and necktie of her dress uniform as she moved past the gathering soldiers. Some of them were excited, though most others were more concerned with the front lines no so far off, let alone the crazy risks in pulling off a morale-boosting speech in the midst of the most contested piece of the Mojave Wasteland.

And she didn't need to directly hear their gripes, let alone look at them. She _sensed_ it, and she shared their concerned more intuitively than any politician. Indeed, she'd rather toss her uniform off, don her combat gear and rejoin her group of Rangers in hunting down more of those slaving scum Caesar's Legion keeps sending from across the Dam. _And with that new friend of mine too! The sooner this piece of hooey is over, I'll-_

"About time you've shown up, Missy!"

Her thoughts were cut off as she saw General Lee Oliver in all his finery approaching her, his bombastic if smug voice cutting through the surrounding chatter.

"A pleasure to be here, General!" she quipped with a perky, if forced smile as she saluted. "Fighting the good fight ain't a walk in the park, as _you_ well know, sir."

"Just doing my job," he replied, oblivious to the blonde's growing sarcasm. "It's tough work for our boys and girls, but I hope Kimball would give 'em a bit more motivation! What better way to put the fear of God and the Bear in those sons of bitches?"

 _And put your name on the history books, pompous ass._ "Right! But there's still a war to settle. And I gotta admit, it's _mighty_ dangerous out here. Wouldn't want Caesar lobbing grenades and spears onto the stage!"

"Now don't worry your little head, Missy! I'll bet on my mother's grave that this place is as safe as back home. It's not often the President of the New California Republic himself gets to see the front lines up close. So sit back and enjoy the moment!"

Then again, perhaps attending such spectacles came with _being_ the New California Republic. She was, after all, what those in the know back in the Pre-War days called a "Nation." Or at least, back where there was more of her kind walking around. _They're all bones and radroach fodder now. Makes me wonder how Old Man Al used to deal with it all…_

Like most people, ghouls, Super Mutants and those stuck-ups from the Vaults, Anne was very much a child of the irradiated ruin left behind by the Great War of 2077. Whoever started it, America and the entire Old World burned in atomic fire, some places worse than others. But even before Aradesh his little Tandi took her in as a toddler over century ago in Shady Sands, she knew she was more than just another wastelander. _No, I'm all of them. And then some._ She was as much a part of her people as they were part of her, from the mines of Redding to the L.A. Boneyard. She witnessed history unfold first-hand, even if it at times involved taking a few bullets up close. The N.C.R. smirked to herself bitterly as she recalled having her limbs blown off by some Brotherhood laser rifle. _Good God that one hurt! But that tin man in for a surprise~_

Her thoughts snapped back to reality however upon seeing the Presidential Vertibird coming into view, the band assembled on stage beginning to play. Even now, Anne found it hard not to chuckle at the name she gave to it as much as seeing it flying still captivated her.

"Bear Force One," she muttered to General Oliver with coy smirk. "Pre-War tech at its finest. Now _that's_ something those slaving baddies don't have!"

"It sure is." Then to her surprise, the pompous commander sighed, his eyes softening before her blue one. "Seeing that and the fine people here putting their ass on the line – it helps remind me of what the Bear is capable of. Good people gave their lives fighting for freedom and are doing the same protecting Vegas and the Mojave from that wannabe conqueror. And Missy, I'm not gonna lie. We sure could use more good folks in the Republic."

Despite herself, she smiled in agreement. _Well, didn't see that coming._ While in the background, just as the Vertibird landed, she saw a familiar courier keeping tabs over the proceedings. A good friend of hers who, even after being shot twist over some platinum chip, was doing all he could to protect the President and soldiers gathered here. _And me…_

A part of the N.C.R. wondered what her true, long-gone father would think of her. Sure, the Nation and her people weren't perfect. President Kimball, for all his war-hero bravado was no Aradesh or Tandi either. But compared to the primitive Tribals, Caesar's Legion or those mercifully dead Enclave madmen, who _else_ represented liberty, democracy and the rule of law to the wastes? Who else could live up to America's legacy while learning from his failures?

 _Me, that's who!_ She smiled at that, even as she joined the rest of her soldiers in applauding her elected leader. Once the Mojave's safe, there'd be nowhere else but up. _Just you wait, Old Man Al. Just you wait…_

-o-

The Citadel, Vicinity of Washington D.C. 2280.

Another day had ended in the Citadel. Most of the Scribes, Paladins and Knights still about were either those beginning their night shifts or in the middle of some assigned project related to rebuilding Liberty Prime. In these times though, it meant that the myriad corridors and halls of what was once the Pentagon, the heart of Pre-War America's military, were largely silent save for the hum of electronics and vacuum tubes or the occasional laser blast.

 _What a difference three years can make,_ Elder Owyn Lyons mused from his private quarters as he went through the last of the day's reports. Thanks to the clean water distributed through Project Purity and the so-called Lone Wanderer's exploits, what locals called the Capital Wasteland was becoming less of one by the week. And with the – hopefully – _final_ defeat of the heinous Enclave, the Brotherhood of Steel was now an undisputed, if benevolent force for good in the East Coast. _What's left of us, anyway. If those stories are true._

The aging leader shrugged. In light of unconfirmed reports of his estranged West Coast brethren fading out and suffering crushing defeats in the hands of the N.C.R., the notion that this would make his reformist Chapter the new heart of the Brotherhood was something neither he nor the others wanted to think about. He set the thought aside only to see the last task left on his glorified to-do-list. His eyes narrowed. _Of course. Him._

"It's late, da- I mean, Elder," he heard his soon-to-be successor Sarah mutter in concern as she stood up, her power armor moving flawlessly. "I don't think even the Codex warrants Maxson's successors to work themselves to death!"

"Don't worry," he smiled weakly. "I'm not senile just yet. There's still life in these bones. And besides, I have one more thing to do."

She frowned. "It's _that_ time again, you mean. Old Glory?"

"I won't take too long. It's not like it could do much to harm me, anyway."

"Father, you don't have to do it."

But after giving his daughter a reassuring smile, there was a knowing, soft nod from her before turning away.

Passing down the now-empty underground passageways, he made his way to a nondescript door that only he and his most trusted subordinates had access to. For at the middle of the illuminated chamber it opened to, encased in tempered glass laid an ancient corpse from the Old World. It was found in a burnt ruin and brought here shortly after they arrived in D.C. A corpse that was enigmatic even to his Scribes' best equipment. _But we know the answer, don't we?_

He took a moment to take in the sight of the remains dubbed Old Glory. The body itself had largely decayed, leaving behind scorched bones clothed in the rotted remnants of what might have been an officer's uniform, and even the tattered fragments of a bomber jacket. Unlike most other skeletal bodies found topside, there was still enough skin and grain-like hair preserved, however decomposed, to picture what he must have looked like. It was just enough it turned out, to give an idea of the young, blond man's anguished sorrow in his last days.

Save for the name "A.F. Jones" being the only readable part of the torn ID card the corpse was found with, there was little surviving evidence on the corpse's true identity. Yet despite that, he knew _exactly_ who this was. Perhaps this was the real reason why the Enclave wanted the Citadel so badly, more than just military ordinance or any strategic value. Perhaps even those megalomaniacs wanted to atone, in some twisted way, for leaving their own country to die in the Great War. _To think it would be literal._

"And to think the legendary Roger Maxson himself swore allegiance to you," Elder Lyons finally muttered aloud to the corpse. A melancholy smile crossed his lips, the man wondering briefly whether it was listening. "I don't blame you or whatever your kind for the War either, like it matters now. But D.C. – no, this _whole land's_ coming back, Old Glory, and we're doing our part. Even if it takes another 200 years of dialogue and lasers, we'll get there."

The man sighed heavily as he placed his hand on the glass casing. Just as he was about to turn back however, he heard a faint, male voice. An echo from the Old World to one that was beginning again.

 _"_ _This hero knows you guys will. All of you!"_

Looking up, he saw no one. Nothing else besides the corpse, what was left of its face oddly turned upward, as though attempting to smile. Maybe it was just age at long last catching up to the Brotherhood Elder. But against his better judgment, he returned the favor. And as he left that chamber, he paused for a moment to salute the body in the Old World tradition. _Only you would understand._

"Steel be with you, America."

* * *

As a bit of trivia:

The Brotherhood of Steel is a pseudo-religious, knightly order founded by a surviving US Army officer named Roger Maxson, who with his subordinates and their families survived the Great War that ended civilization in 2077 and swore to preserve and protect Old World technology. Its members uphold Maxson's "Codex" with great reverence. By the 2270s, there are two main branches: the original, rather xenophobic "West Coast" Brotherhood, which is barely hanging on, and the "East Coast" Brotherhood, which is much more altruistic and liberal with its understanding of the Codex. It helped that the expedition to D.C. that lead to creation of the East Coast branch was led by a reformist Elder.

The New California Republic is the country that emerged from the ruins of California. Its origins are traced to the town (and later capital) of Sandy Sands, its leader Aradesh (who formally founded the N.C.R. in 2189) and his daughter Tandi (its first female President and the N.C.R.'s "Founding Mother"). Compared to the nomadic, ultra-authoritarian Caesar's Legion, the "Tribals" surrounding its borders or the corrupt, technologically advanced remnants of Pre-War America's elite (The Enclave), they're a veritable nation-state in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. And yes...she's good "friends" with the Courier.

Liberty Prime is a giant, experimental robot that was put in storage under the Pentagon not long before the Great War.

Vertibirds are a kind of retro-futuristic evolution of the helicopter that used to be exclusive to the Enclave until they were wiped out by the N.C.R. and East Coast Brotherhood.

Also, the preview image is taken from the Fallout Wiki. Kudos to them, Bethesda Softworks and Obsidian Entertainment.


End file.
